Erised Stra Ehru Oyt Ube Cafru Oyt On Wohsi
by biggieSMALLS
Summary: One shot (will be a collection onwards). The Mirror of Erised shows the heart's most deepest and most desperate desires. Some of the characters in the HP Universe stumble upon the Mirror, showing them what they truly desire. Chapter One - Albus. I will take requests for any characters.
1. Albus Dumbledore

**This story will cover the character's visions of the Mirror of Erised of those whom I most wanted to see. As series of one-shots, some may be inter-related, some may be independent. Chronological order will not matter.**

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 _Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore_

Harry, it seemed, had an unhealthy infatuation with the mirror. As he strode towards the empty, unused classroom to look for the Mirror, little did he know that he was being tailed by none other than the Headmaster of the greatest wizarding school in history. Dumbledore couldn't see him, but he certainly could tail him. It wasn't the first time Albus had been required to follow an invisible person, and Harry was no professional. He made loud noises with his feet, despite trying to control that, and his breathing was certainly audible. As soon as the eleven year old boy ducked into the classroom, Dumbledore caught the closing door with his foot, as nimbly as a young man could. He quickly cast a Disillusionment charm on himself, and made his way inside the abandoned room, closing the door behind him.

What he saw was quite disturbing. Harry had taken off the cloak; it was lying beside him, unthought-of. Harry himself gawked at the mirror before him. Albus knew better than to look into the mirror, but it caught his gaze anyway. He gasped silently, and stared at the reflection.

Staring back at him was a beautiful fourteen year old girl. She had dirty blonde hair that reached the middle of her back, a fair complexion, and soft brown eyes. She wore a slim ankle length dress, with short sleeves, and she had her hair tied back. She was bare foot, and Albus saw that her feet stood on grass. Albus tried not to look the girl in the eye, and instead focused on the backdrop. Big Mistake.

He saw a small brick house, with two windows and a wooden door that hanged, an couldn't close properly. A chimney jutted out, with white smoke pouring out of it. A brown and fading picket fence bordered the grounds of the home, and the grass grew green and tall, so it reached the girl's ankles. The girl smiled at Albus, as though she could see right through the Disillusionment Charm.

Albus's mind traveled back to the last day he had talked to Ariana. A proper, brother to sister talk was rare, as Albus was away a lot, but when it came around, Ariana and Albus cherished every moment of it.

 _He walked down the short corridor, and stopped in front of a decaying wooden door. He had just received word from his brother that Ariana had another_ fit. _Albus was confused and enraged when he heard the news. He had been travelling around the world with Gellert, gaining knowledge from different wizards and witches. He had gone to the furthest corners of Eurasia, trying to find a way, any way, to cure Ariana of her ailment. He knew the Healers at St. Mungos could only delay the malady that afflicted his sister. Albus had gone through the darkest books, the most well kept secrets, yet he found nothing. At his brother's insistence he came home and found that he was too late. An enraged Ariana had caused an explosion causing the roof of the cellar to fall. She was rescued from the rubble by Aberforth, but Kendra was crushed by the debris. Her body was recovered, mangled and broken. Ariana could not stop screaming and crying. Eventually, after the funeral, she fell asleep._

 _Carefully, he knocked on the door. 'Come in,' a broken voice answered. Ariana laid on her bed, with the covers covering everything but her face, and feet._

 _'Do you hate me, Albus?' she asked. The eldest brother wanted to cry._

 _'No, Ariana. I love you. This...our mother's death... it was not your fault. It was those kids. The ones who...' Albus could not complete the sentence, so he started over. 'Listen, Ariana. Whatever you did, it was an accident. Y-you weren't in control. If anything, it's m-my fault. I should've been there for you. I shouldn't have dumped you on Aberforth. I'm the eldest. You, Aberforth, this house, it was my responsibility. I've failed you.'_

 _Ariana shook her head vehemently. 'No, Al. It's not. Maybe we can get past this. We can try to mend things. I just wish I could see Father.'_

 _Albus shuddered. 'You know we can't. He's in Azkaban, surrounded by dementors. With your ailment, and the Dementor's effect on happiness, and emotions, I don't know what will happen. Besides, Father made his decision. Tell you what, you're birtdays coming up, isn't it? What do you want?'_

 _Ariana, for the first time in months, laughed. 'You know my birthday isn't for another_ three _months, Al!'_

 _Albus shrugged and grinned. 'You can have a second birthday, two in one year! How about it? So, tell me, what do you want?_

 _Ariana, with mocked seriousness, replied, 'Socks. Thick, woolen, socks.'_

 _Albus chuckled. 'Socks?' he asked incredulously._

 _Ariana opened her mouth to answer._

At that moment, Albus snapped out of it. He looked back at the mirror and saw that three more figures had joined him and Ariana in the mirror. It was his father, Percival, mother; Kendra, and brother; Aberforth. Albus shook his head, and removed his Disillusionment Charm.

'Back again, Harry?' he asked, announcing his presence to the young boy. The eleve year old quickly jumped to his feet, and turned his back to the mirror. Albus could still see his family in the mirror. His father hugged Kendra, and Ariana. The little girl gave Albus a mischievous wink.

'I see that you, like many before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised,' the headmaster stated. 'I trust, by know, that you realise what it does.' Harry shook his head.

'Let me give you a clue,' Dumbledore started, 'the happiest man on earth would look into the mirror, and see only himself, exactly as he is.'

'So,' Harry started, beginning to catch on, 'it shows us what we want? Whatever we want?'

'Yes, and no,' Dumbledore answered cryptically. 'It shows, nothing more, or nothing less, than the deepest, and most _desperate_ , desires of our hearts. Now you, Harry, who have never known family, see them standing beside you.' Dumbledore looked Harry in the eye and marveled how similar he was to his foe, Tom Riddle Jr. They were both orphaned, and they both never knew family. The led sad lives, with nobody to love them. The only difference, and the most significant difference between any two parties, is that Harry knew what it was like to love. He found friends, and cherished them. Voldemort never made friends, only allies and minions.

'But know this Harry,' the wise man continued, 'neither gives us knowledge, nor truth. Men have wasted away in front of it. That is why it will be moved to a new home tomorrow. And, I must ask you, not to go looking for it again. It does not do good to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.'

The boy looked down at the floor. Dumbledore trusted that Harry would take his advice, but he couldn't be sure. The lure of the mirror was _very_ powerful, and he was asking an eleven year old boy to do what many men failed to; show restraint.

'Professor, can I ask you a question?' Harry asked.

'It seems that you already have. But you may ask me another one if you wish,' was the old man's reply.

'What do you see, in the mirror?'

Dumbledore almost burst out laughing. The boy was essentially asking his heart's greatest desire. 'I see myself holding a pair of thick woolen socks.'

'Socks?' Harry repeated incredulously, mirroring Dumbledore all those years ago.

Albus opened his mouth to answer

 _'One can never have too many socks,' she said, keeping her faux serious tone intact._ She _was dead one week later._

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 **This turned out longer than planned. Feel free to suggest characters if you wish.**


	2. Draco

**As per request, Malfoy's mirror. Transliteration is writing one language using another language's characters, so only the _sound_ is reproduced. For example, if you have ساحر in Arabic (magician) then you would write _sahir_ in order to reproduce the sound the word would take. **

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_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

Draco moved silently and swiftly along the seventh floor hallway. He glanced back, just enough to see that Crabbe and Goyle were following him in the guise of two first year girls. Getting their hairs had been easy enough. Those girls left it around everywhere, shedding like a sick cat. The particular strands used for the transformation of the two oafs were from a hair brush. The Polyjuice Potion was supplied by the Dark Lord. It was probably produced by the barmy Potions master. Draco had initially looked up to Snape, admiring him for he was talented, from noble blood, and a trusted advisor of his own master. Now, Draco realized, Snape was trying to steal the thunder from the Malfoys. no doubt Snape was overjoyed when the Malfoy patriarch was sent to Azkaban.

Continuing his quick stride, Draco eventually stopped by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to do ballet. Draco stopped for a while, pondering how mad a person would have to be to try and teach trolls ballet. He then concentrated.

 _I need the Room of Hidden Things. I need the Room where the Vanishing Cabinet is hidden._ A giant archway shimmered into existence, as if it was a mirage created by a trick of the light. Draco opened the door, and walked through the opening, shutting the door behind him. The only people that saw this were Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, each holding scales. They were to drop them if they needed to sound the alarm. The doorway disappeared as soon as Draco stepped inside the room, leaving Barnabas to teach his trolls the delicate art of ballet.

Draco walked through the maze of hidden things. Books littered the place, some on shelves, some in giant piles, and some strewn about. no doubt at least three fourths contained Dark magic so evil, only the Death Eaters would use it. (Draco had to remind himself that _he_ was a Death Eater also. He clasped his left arm just thinking of it.)

Broken furniture was haphazardly discarded in this room. Bottles of alcohol littered the place. Draco was sure he even saw a package of a pound of crack lying on the floor, ripped on the side as if someone had thrown it in without a second glance. Nasty looking potions graced the tops of tables, and some spilt on floors, leaving a trail of hideous side effects where it fell. Expensive hats, cloaks, and a trunk full of jewels stood in his way. He even saw a banjo. Draco knew the labyrinth of the Room by heart. He knew _exactly_ where he put the cabinet. After all, this was his job. On his way to the cabinet he saw something that caught his eye. A tall and thin structure, almost oval shaped, was covered by a dark cloak. Only its feet were visible, and Draco saw that it was made of solid gold. Intrigued, Draco pulled off the cover. After all, he had nothing but time. The Dark Lord demanded that he had until the end of the term. Right now, Draco was somewhere in the middle, and making excellent progress with the Twin Cabinets. Mr. Borgin was extremely willing to help, especially considering the... _circumstances_ he was in. Nobody wanted to get on the bad side of Fenrir Greyback, much less the Dark Lord.

When the cover was pulled down, Draco had to rub his eyes to adjust them. It looked like a mirror, but it was nothing like one. Before he could concentrate on the apparent 'reflection' he looked at the engraving. _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._ Draco tried cross referencing it with every language he knew. Nothing matched. French, Latin, Spanish, they all failed. He didn't even try the languages that didn't use the Roman characters, this mirror was obviously ancient, and ancient wizards weren't keen on transliterating.

Slowly, but surely, Draco lowered his gaze to the actual mirror. He was not expecting a normal reflection, the mirror was very obviously magical. Perhaps it showed what your future self will look like, or something like that. Whatever Draco was expecting, it was _not_ this.

The 'reflection' showed Draco from a third-person view. It wasn't at all like looking into a mirror, more like staring into a flying camera. The image showed Draco, but he was doing something he hadn't done in a long time. Draco was smiling. He was flying on a broom, soaring through the clouds, and his expression was that of a man who had no care in the world. The real Draco stepped back warily. He tried to catch his breath. He envied the reflection as of now. The man in the reflection was free, while Draco was trapped, and burdened with despair, duty, and loyalty to his family. For years he had felt proud to carry the Malfoy legacy.

He had wanted to serve the Dark Lord, to purge his society of scum and mudbloods. They brought nothing but danger, and Draco didn't want to see his world crumble because some Mudblood had exposed the Wizards to the blood-thirsty society of men and women who were none but willing to kill their brothers if it meant that they'd have even a small nugget of gold. Now he felt the Malfoy crest on every piece of cutlery and jewelry around the manor was a burden. Everytime the Dark Lord, or even his Aunt Bellatrix, glanced at him, he flinched with terror. Despite his claims, the Dark Lord was not merciful.

Draco looked once again into the mirror again. If he could've seen himself, he would've seen an expression of longing, a yearning appearance decorated his face.

Draco realized what the mirror really did. It showed what you could never have. He punched the mirror in a blind rage, but as soon as his fist touched the glass, he winced in pain. The glass didn't shatter, but Draco felt as if his bones did. Shaking his hands, Draco left the mirror, ccatching one last furtive glance at the mirror. He set off to do his task.


	3. Charlie Sheen, nvm Weasely

**Charles "Charlie" Weasley**

 _November, 1988, sometime around midnight_

Charlie ran like hell. He ran down an empty corridor, up a flight of stairs, and through another corridor. Behind him a large table, missing one and a half legs and donning a dozen scorch marks, plus something that looked like bite marks mad by some sort of animal, bobbed and weaved behind him, defying the laws of physics because of a twelve inch wooden stick in his hands.

"Whoever you are, you better stop right now!" called a voice behind him. Charlie cursed. His pursuer was getting closer. Charlie ducked into another corridor and spotted a flight of stairs. With a sudden burst of speed Charlie flew up the stairs, barely managing to not trip over his own feet.

Charlie had gotten up late at night to sneak out and practice spells on unused furniture. Hey, Hogwarts has money, and why not spend the money educating children, seeing as Hogwarts is a school. The practice went horrendously awry. What was supposed to be a normal jinx turned into a blazing table, a flooded classroom, and a literal rats nest. The commotion drew the attention of the current Head Boy, William 'Bill' Weasley, who happened to be Charlie's brother. Charlie managed to get a headstart, throw part of his cloak over his head to hide the conspicuous hair and his face, and ran while magically levitating the proof of his misdeeds behind him, which leads us to the beginning of our story.

Charlie ran up multiple flights of stairs, doesn't three corridors, and discovered a passage from one random hall to another. Eventually, Charlie found himself on the seventh floor, with a portrait of Barnabas The Barmy trying to teach trolls to do ballet. Suddenly, just as Charlie was thinking about how he needed an escape route, a small inconspicuous door appeared out of the blue. It looked like the door to a broom closet; Charlie was sure Bill would never find him there. As soon as Charlie barrelled through the door he attempted to stop because of sheer amazement. Because the laws of physics happen to apply to wizards when magic isn't being used on them, a phenomenon by the name of inertia caused Charlie to trip and fall sprawling on the floor. The table landed with a huge crash behind him.

Charlie groaned. He quickly looked behind him and saw that the door had vanished behind him. Charlie panicked. How was he to get out!?

He stood up and started to look around for anything. Charlie saw the weirdest things imaginable. Treasures, potions, brooms, furniture and a seemingly limitless supply of books. The one thing that caught his eye was the most inconspicuous. A tall object covered by a dull cloth. Charlie swiped the cloth off and saw an image of him in the plane mirror before him. But this wasn't a reflection. Charlie seemed older, stronger, and he wasn't staring back like a reflection would.

The reflection of Charlie was fighting a dragon. Charlie saw himself duck, weave, and dodge bolts of fire and nearly get scratched by the dragon's claws, which were as big as swords. In the end, 'fake' Charlie shot a single spell into the dragon's eye and incapacitated it.

The real Charlie staggered backwards. He rushed through the endless pile of junk in this strange room and to where he thought the exit was. Charlie hastily searched for a knob or a handle, and he found one after fidgeting for seven minutes. Charlie checked to see if the hall was clear, and rushed out. He didn't notice that the room had ejected him on the opposite side of the hallway.

As soon as Charlie entered the Gryffindor dormitories, he saw the Head Boy sitting on the couch near the flame.

"Where were you little bro?" Bill smirked.


End file.
